It made sense. There were such a lot of foolish things about life

among nice people. Having to pretend that her heart was in the

grave when it wasn't. And how shocked everybody had been when she

danced at the bazaar. And the infuriating way people lifted their

eyebrows every time she did or said anything the least bit

different from what every other young woman did and said. But

still, she was jarred at hearing him attack the very traditions

that irked her most. She had lived too long among people who

dissembled politely not to feel disturbed at hearing her own

thoughts put into words.

"Mercenary? No, I'm only farsighted. Though perhaps that is

merely a synonym for mercenary. At least, people who were not as

farsighted as I will call it that. Any loyal Confederate who had

a thousand dollars in cash in 1861 could have done what I did, but

how few were mercenary enough to take advantage of their

opportunities! As for instance, right after Fort Sumter fell and

before the blockade was established, I bought up several thousand

bales of cotton at dirt-cheap prices and ran them to England.

They are still there in warehouses in Liverpool. I've never sold

them. I'm holding them until the English mills have to have

cotton and will give me any price I ask. I wouldn't be surprised

If I got a dollar a pound."

"You'll get a dollar a pound when elephants roost in trees!"

"I'll believe I'll get it. Cotton is at seventy-two cents a pound

already. I'm going to be a rich man when this war is over,

Scarlett, because I was farsighted--pardon me, mercenary. I told

you once before that there were two times for making big money,

one in the upbuilding of a country and the other in its

destruction. Slow money on the upbuilding, fast money in the

crack-up. Remember my words. Perhaps they may be of use to you

some day."

"I do appreciate good advice so much," said Scarlett, with all the

sarcasm she could muster. "But I don't need your advice. Do you

think Pa is a pauper? He's got all the money I'll ever need and

then I have Charles' property besides."

"I imagine the French aristocrats thought practically the same

thing until the very moment when they climbed into the tumbrils."

Frequently Rhett pointed out to Scarlett the inconsistency of her

wearing black mourning clothes when she was participating in all

social activities. He liked bright colors and Scarlett's funeral

dresses and the crepe veil that hung from her bonnet to her heels

both amused him and offended him. But she clung to her dull black

dresses and her veil, knowing that if she changed them for colors

without waiting several more years, the town would buzz even more

than it was already buzzing. And besides, how would she ever

explain to her mother?

Rhett said frankly that the crepe veil made her look like a crow

and the black dresses added ten years to her age. This ungallant

statement sent her flying to the mirror to see if she really did

look twenty-eight instead of eighteen.

"I should think you'd have more pride than to try to look like

Mrs. Merriwether," he taunted. "And better taste than to wear

that veil to advertise a grief I'm sure you never felt. I'll lay

a wager with you. I'll have that bonnet and veil off your head

and a Paris creation on it within two months."

"Indeed, no, and don't let's discuss it any further," said

Scarlett, annoyed by his reference to Charles. Rhett, who was

preparing to leave for Wilmington for another trip abroad,

departed with a grin on his face.

One bright summer morning some weeks later, he reappeared with a

brightly trimmed hatbox in his hand and, after finding that

Scarlett was alone in the house, he opened it. Wrapped in layers

of tissue was a bonnet, a creation that made her cry: "Oh, the

darling thing!" as she reached for it. Starved for the sight,

much less the touch, of new clothes, it seemed the loveliest

bonnet she had ever seen. It was of dark-green taffeta, lined

with water silk of a pale-jade color. The ribbons that tied under

the chin were as wide as her hand and they, too, were pale green.

And, curled about the brim of this confection was the perkiest of

green ostrich plumes.

"Put it on," said Rhett, smiling.

She flew across the room to the mirror and plopped it on her head,

pushing back her hair to show her earrings and tying the ribbon

under her chin.

"How do I look?" she cried, pirouetting for his benefit and

tossing her head so that the plume danced. But she knew she

looked pretty even before she saw confirmation in his eyes. She

looked attractively saucy and the green of the lining made her

eyes dark emerald and sparkling.

"Oh, Rhett, whose bonnet is it? I'll buy it. I'll give you every

cent I've got for it."

"It's your bonnet," he said. "Who else could wear that shade of

green? Don't you think I carried the color of your eyes well in

my mind?"

"Did you really have it trimmed just for me?"

"Yes, and there's 'Rue de la Paix' on the box, if that means

anything to you."